Page 7 of A Crown of Hopes and Sorrows

“Now, I need to finish some work, but we’ll discuss these two trips later?”

“Of course.”

I bowed and strode out of the office, worry flooding my mind. I searched for Apollo, but didn’t have to look far. The first place I checked—my bedroom—proved successful. He sat propped up on the bed, his lyre in hand, his fingers strumming a peaceful song, his eyes glued to the window. His veil had faded, and he shimmered in the light of his powers. His gold coloring shone through, highlighting his hair, adding a sun-kissed glow to his skin.

I hesitated, reluctant to interrupt. If I could capture a single moment to tuck aside and step back into, I might choose that one. Apollo at peace, his divine form relaxed, the beauty of his features at ease in a way no other got to see. It was a privilege to know him on that level, to be the one person he truly unveiled himself for. And it wasn’t because he was a god. It was simply gratitude for getting to see him, the person, that rippled through me.

He shifted towards me. “Are you just going to stand there all day?”

I smirked and leaned against the doorjamb. “Maybe I like the view.”

He chuckled, running his hand back through his curls before sliding the lyre into his knapsack.

“I have somewhere I want to show you.”

He cocked an eyebrow but jumped up, bag in hand, and followed me. When we stepped into the atrium fifteen minutes later, Apollo crossed his arms, scanning over the emerald leaves and curving glass ceiling where a scarlet-feathered bird flew overhead.

“So? What do you think?” I asked.

“It’s humid.”

I clicked my tongue. “You’re just choosing to complain about it.”

He elbowed me. “You knew I’d do that coming in here, so you must find my complaining endearing.”

He grinned, and his jaw softened with it, the long line of his neck meeting his tunic and dipping beneath it. My stomach warmed. “I suppose so,” I said as I gestured to a bench.

We both sat, and I tucked my arm around Apollo’s shoulder. He sank into me, and that warm feeling spread, drifting down my limbs. He leaned in and kissed me, his lips soft and yielding, unlike the sharp edges of his personality. “There’s something I wanted to discuss with you, if you remember,” I said.

He pulled back but allowed his fingers to linger, tickling along my neck. “What is it?”

“I’ve thought of an expedited way to find out which of the minor gods may align with us.”

“Did you?”

I unwrapped myself from him and leaned onto my knees. “We could seek the wind gods. They involve themselves with many of the lower deities and will know if there are any murmurings of dissent.”

Apollo scoffed. “I can’t stand the wind gods.”

“You can’t stand any gods.”

“The wind gods hold a special level of hate for me.” He smacked his mouth. “And how do you intend to get them to tell us what they know, anyway?”

A bird cried in the distance, and the limbs of a tree shivered as I smoothed out the silky edge of my robe, my voice dropping to a whisper. “You might not have been the first god I’ve been with.”

Apollo snapped his head in my direction. “Are you serious? Wait…” His eyebrows jumped up. “One of the wind gods? Who?”

I fiddled the ring on my finger back and forth before straightening and meeting his piercing gaze. “Zephyrus.”

“No,” Apollo gasped. “Oh, gods, Cyn. Not him. He’s the worst.”

I rolled my eyes. “Haven’t you been with other deities?”

“Well, yes.”

“So, how is this any different?”

“It’s entirely different. Zephyrus is…” He gave his head a shake.